The Love Game

by Emilia Beaumont

  “Pot, kettle, black,” I spat back in a bit of a hiss.

  “Ginny? Are you there? Who are you talking to?”

  “Tim! Erm, no one,” I answered, slightly relieved to hear my younger brother’s voice. It grounded me, telling me that I wasn’t in some weird-ass dream. His calling me so soon wasn’t on the agenda, though, and it made me suspicious.

  Tim was partly the reason that I had been able to take this trip, maintaining the bar and other things so I could have some time off. He’d given and promised his time in the form of a Christmas present, and that was perfectly fine with me. He couldn’t have given me a better gift, honestly. Much better than some smelly box of bath bombs that I would never get around to using. I was tired of getting gift boxes filled with soaps from him anyway.

  “What’s happened? Is everything OK?”

  “Ginny, I can’t find the key to the storage room.”

  I sighed, frustration evident in my voice. “Really, Tim? You called me in France for that? You said you could handle things. I’ve only been gone a few hours!”

  “I looked where you told me,” he protested, a slight whine in his voice. The one he’d always used to get his own way with our mom when he was a kid. “But it’s not there, Ginny, and I need to get in there for the vodka and to move all the boxes from upstairs.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t we gone over every small detail before I left? Twice. I’d even included a cheat sheet I had painstakingly written out for him, detailing every possible scenario and piece of information he would ever need about the bar and the apartment.

  “Find the list, Tim,” I said curtly.

  “I’ve lost that, too.”

  I groaned. I knew this was a bad idea. Going away, leaving everything in his “capable” hands, as he put it, was a huge mistake. God knows what else had gone wrong. How he had managed to become a lawyer when he was so scatterbrained was beyond me. A car horn from behind honked its impatience. The light had turned green, and there was an empty road ahead of me. Startled into action, I put my foot on the gas pedal and screeched away. I didn’t have time to deal with Tim; I had more important things to worry about, like kidnapping the superstar athlete next to me.

  “I don’t care. Find it. Please just handle it. I don’t have time to help you find it. And please don’t call me again unless it’s something serious. Don’t forget about that stuff to take to storage. It’s important that you do that while I’m gone, Tim. You know it upsets her.”

  He started to protest again, but I ended the call, placing the phone back in the cup holder. Had I really thought my brother could act like an adult for a change and handle some responsibility while I was away? Eugh, maybe I was dreaming.

  “Problems?” Damon chirped up. His head was no longer on window and he was gazing over at me.

  “Oh, now you want to talk?” I replied a little harshly. But really, it wasn’t like I was going to air my dirty family laundry to a famous stranger.

  “Maybe I do.”

  “Well, it’s none of your business,” I said curtly, my initial feelings of running into him—of all people in France—becoming a distant memory. Yeah, he was cute and all, but I’d wanted a simple vacation, watching tennis and touring Paris. I didn’t ask for this. What on earth had I gotten myself into? No doubt it would make for a great story back home. That was if I didn’t get arrested for taking him from the scene of an accident, but it was too much. My stress levels were skyrocketing instead of plummeting.

  He fell silent and I made a few frustrating turns before finally recognizing the local boulangerie I’d visited early that morning to get croissants. That meant I was close, a few streets away from the apartment. I studied the cafés and landmarks along the road, hoping to get my bearings. Finally the honey-colored building with the ATM attached to its side came into view, and I turned the car down the one-way street that the apartment was located on. Up ahead I was relieved to see there weren’t any flashing police lights outside the apartment. I had no idea if any of the onlookers at the accident site had taken down my vehicle’s registration plate and passed the information on to the cops, but it had crossed my mind that it was a possibility.

  I maneuvered the car into one of the available parking spots in front of the building, still feeling anxious about what I’d done. My hands trembled as I released them from the steering wheel. I’d never broken a law in my life, and leaving the scene of an accident—albeit one I didn’t cause—was still not something I was proud of. Didn’t they typically throw the book at Americans in other countries? Could I survive in jail? Definitely not.

  Throwing the car into park, I forced myself to look over at Damon. I’d literally forced him into my car, not at gunpoint or anything like that stuff you see in the movies, but I had pushed him and been very insistent. Plus he was drunk; he didn’t know what was going on. Oh my god, what had I been thinking? What if when he sobered up he blamed me for missing his match? I would cost him thousands of dollars…

  “Where are we?” he asked, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. He looked at the cream building with a heavy green double door, which also acted as a gate for small vehicles, with a frown on his face.

  “It’s, well, it’s the place I’m staying,” I finally said, pulling the keys out of the ignition. My hands were still shaking slightly. What was I going to do with him now? Was I really doing this?

  He went to open the car door, but it resisted. “You locked me in?” he said with a half snort, half laugh.

  “Sorry, yes. I didn’t want you falling out.” And it was true; I’d been worried in his state he’d open the door and go tumbling into the street and end up as roadkill.

  He shrugged, and I clicked the button to release the locks.

  With a lurch he pushed open the door. I hurried to do the same, hoping he wasn’t about to make a break for freedom. I was in no mood to chase him down the street, though it probably would’ve been the best thing to happen. Then he wouldn’t be my problem anymore.

  Hurrying over to the passenger side, I watched as he attempted to climb out, falling back against the car as soon as his feet hit the uneven sidewalk.

  I’d hoped that the long drive would’ve sobered him up just a bit, but I was wrong. He attempted to stand again, bracing his hand on the open door. “Dammit,” I heard him mutter under his breath. I stepped in, grabbing his arm and wrapping it around my shoulder. “Come on,” I said briskly, wanting to get inside. “I’ll help you.”

  “I don’t need your fucking help,” he said, the anger bursting out of him unexpectedly, even though he continued to lean on me. His weight nearly caused us both to tumble to the ground, but I braced myself and managed to stay upright. For a fit guy, he sure weighed a ton. Must be all that delicious muscle.

  “Shut up,” I said mainly for my own benefit. “You do need my help.”

  We stood awkwardly for a moment, and he stared at me, as if he were stunned that I’d had the audacity to put him in his place.

  “Come on,” I said again and urged him to move. We crossed the street. I kept my head down as a couple passed by us. Thank god, he had put his sunglasses back on; I was dreading him being spotted and then mobbed.

  “You know, I’ve never been kidnapped before,” he said loudly, causing me to blush furiously as the couple’s heads whipped back around to stare at us. Obviously they could understand English.

  “He’s drunk, just joking,” I offered with a casual wave of my hand and hurried us along. “First time for everything,” I hissed at him, “but seriously, how about you keep quiet for a moment unless you really do want to get arrested today.”

  In an exaggerated move that caused him to sway, he mimed bringing his fingers to his lips and locking them and then throwing away the invisible key.

  “Good, let’s see how long that lasts,” I said with a scowl. He merely smiled back at me and waggled his eyebrows. Eugh, this was not how I had anticipated spending the first proper day of my vacation when I woke up that
morning.

  With a few taps on the electronic keypad by the door, I entered the code to the building, pushed open the heavy door and stepped through. The enclosed alley was paved with ancient cobblestones.

  “Watch your step, they can be slippery.” An unexpected warmth ran through me when in response to my words he held on tighter, squeezing my upper shoulder. His frame was oh-so-close, pressed against mine, and I had to concentrate hard to fish out my apartment keys. I couldn’t think about the way his whole length was practically rubbing up against my side. Or how, as I held onto his waist, I could feel his tight and defined muscles beneath my fingers.

  I shook my head, blinking a couple of times to clear the horny fog, and I led him to my ground-floor apartment a few strides away. At the door I fumbled the keys into the lock while balancing him against the frame. Knowing my luck, he’d end up tumbling head first down the polished stone stairs that were precariously close to the entrance of my apartment, leading to the basement below. He’d break his neck, and then for certain his career would be over, and it would be all my fault. But not only that; it was probably a good idea to create a little bit of space between him and me before my entire body decided to overrule my head and just have at this whole kidnapping malarkey. Thoughts of tying him up to the modest queen-sized bed ran through my naughty mind. If there was any a time to take advantage and have my way with a famous celebrity, it was then. I bit my tongue and curbed my urges.

  “Here we are.”

  The door opened and I launched us both inside the cool interior. The apartment was much fancier than my place back home. It was a tiny but well kept, with clean lines and a small, private balcony upstairs that overlooked a garden courtyard at the back of the building. The ground floor couldn’t have been more than twenty square meters, but in that small space the owner had managed to fit in a decked-out kitchen with a bonus laundry machine, a round dining table with bar stools that could seat three people quite comfortably, and a token seating area with a coffee table and two slim white leather armchairs that were angled to face the table. Tucked away in the corner was even an old-fashioned writing desk, with complimentary stationery if I ever had the urge to write home.

  However, what the owners had carefully and successfully hidden in the online photos when I first came across the listing was all the unique artwork that was dotted around the place. Large and small pieces, which were all interesting and shocking, especially if you weren’t expecting them. I certainly do not consider myself a prude, but then again, I never envisioned waking up to face a five-foot cock depicted on canvas in an abstract but very colorful pop-art style that hung on the wall across from the bed. Somehow after my exhausting flight and my quest to go straight to sleep when I’d arrived the night before, I’d completely missed that wonderful addition. It was definitely an eye-opener. No need for coffee when I woke the next morning.

  Clearly the owners considered human forms, naked forms, as beautiful art. Everywhere I turned, there were naked people, naked members, a man or woman, or several together in the throes of passion in black and white or in high-contrast color. Not one wall was spared.

  Damon squinted off into the distance, across the room, as if he needed glasses. “Is that a—”

  “Yes,” I sighed. “Yes, it is. Jealous?”

  “Woah, didn’t peg you as the type.”

  “What do you mean? What type?” I said, hands on hips.

  “Into all that kinky stuff.”

  “And so what if I were?”

  He blinked slowly; the alcohol still had a firm grasp upon him. Then he smiled lazily. “Doesn’t bother me. I should’ve known, though—it’s always the quiet, uptight ones…”

  My mouth dropped open. Speechless. I couldn’t form the words to respond. The door was still open, too… I could easily push him down the stairs, I thought as wicked anger sparked within me. Why was I letting him get to me? If anyone else had said that—a guy at the bar back home, say—I would’ve fired back a witty response. Given as good as I got. But Damon had me stumbling over the words in my head.

  “Ah, don’t be embarrassed. We all have our secrets.”

  As my brain finally clicked into gear and allowed movement back into my jaw, I pushed him towards the leather seat. “Eugh, just sit down and shut up.”

  He exaggerated a wince as he stumbled into the living area. He didn’t sit down. I could feel my face was still flushed from embarrassment and anger, so when I turned around to face him, I wasn’t surprised to see him openly admiring the art on the wall.

  “So,” he said slowly, his eyes lingering on a black and white framed photograph of a tall, curvy woman, her body angled awkwardly to one side as she offered up her large breasts upon the flattened shelf of her palms. “What now?”

  That was the million-dollar question. I didn’t know what to do now. The plan was to not get arrested. I had no clue what came after that.

  His eyes landed on mine, a sloppy grin on his face that sent my heart fluttering into a frenzy. He held out his hands flat in front of him, mimicking the woman in photo. “Are you going to seduce me? Offer me up a tasty view that I might not be able to resist?”

  Seduce him? Now my cheeks really were on fire. I could feel the burn all the way to my eyeballs. I wanted to look away, but he had me trapped, locked into his gaze. Again the thought of Damon Holden in my bed had me considering stripping right there for him. I mean, it was like the best dream come true. The things I could do to him… my body shivered in anticipation. No one would believe me, of course, but why did that matter?

  4

  Damon

  She stared at me like a frightened rabbit, but behind those eyes I could tell she was contemplating it. Wanting to bust open her shirt and let me get a good look. But she shook her head, as if waking herself up from the temptation, then a stone wall shuttered down across her face. She stepped away and headed to the small kitchen.

  “Seduce you, no. Fill you up with coffee and get you sober, yes.”

  “Hell no, I don’t want any coffee. I hate the stuff. It cost me a small fortune to get like this. And you’re just going to ruin it all with coffee?”

  “Tough. You don’t get to choose, remember? I, kidnapper, you, kidnappee. You do what I say,” she said with a smile, mocking my earlier comments. OK, so she hadn’t really kidnapped me. But it was an interesting thought. Would anyone really and truly miss me if, for example, a psycho fan decided to lock me up in his or her basement? Or if I just disappeared without a trace? I doubted it. Sure, there would be press, but I would soon be forgotten.

  I shook my head vehemently as she tried to push the steaming mug on me. Her expression was hard and adamant, one that made me wonder if she wouldn’t pour it down my throat if I continued to refuse.

  “Quit acting like a child and drink it,” she insisted, thrusting the mug with a picture of a dog wearing a beret on it towards me. “It’ll sober you up.”

  “I don’t want to sober up,” I said defiantly, crossing my arms over my chest. The alcohol numbed the pain that was slicing through my chest and helped me forget what I didn’t want to remember. And there was a lot I didn’t want to remember.

  She sighed loudly and placed the mug on the coffee table in front of me. Then she frowned. “Don’t you think you have caused enough trouble today in that state?”

  I laughed. “I haven’t even gotten started yet.” My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I fished it out, scowling as I saw the number. Hell no. I wasn’t going to take that call. Setting the phone down, I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back in the chair so the room wouldn’t spin so badly. “You have no idea what I am capable of.”

  She laughed harshly, throwing her hands up in the air. “I give up. I don’t get you. But if you want to throw away your career, then go ahead. I don’t care anymore.”

  “Who cares what you think, anyway? You know nothing about me or my career.”

  A shadow crossed over her face, and she suddenly looked weary and sad,
like I had killed her puppy or something. Why did she care what I did to myself, anyway?

  “I didn’t ask for your help,” I added, wanting to lash out at her, at the world, for the hurt that I was feeling. I needed another damn drink and not a grilling session from a woman I didn’t even know. What was her name, anyway?

  “You sure needed it. You’d be behind bars right now if it weren’t for me, you ungrateful shit!”

  Well, she kind of had me there. Damn, I should have taken a cab.

  She looked at me then. “Do you not realize how many people would kill to be in your position? People work hard all their lives and never make it even close to where you are today. You are so lucky, and now all you want to do is piss it away, for what? Because someone pissed you off?”

  Someone had pissed me off, but not in the context she was thinking. “What are you, a shrink now? Get the hell off my back. And for the love of god, stop shouting. My head is pounding.”

  “Good!” she yelled. “I’ve never met someone so, so unbelievably ungrateful and selfish!” she continued her voice louder, genuine anger on her face now. “I would have never thought.”

  “Well, now you know,” I interrupted, looking down at the stupid dog on the mug. My kidnapper made a sound, an exasperated growl, threw her hands up in the air as if in defeat and stormed off up the stairs, leaving me to sit there, contemplating how far I could get on my own two feet. It wouldn’t be far. I closed my eyes instead.

  Why had I allowed her to drag me into her car in the first place? She wasn’t the first chick to want a piece of Damon Holden. But she didn’t, not really. And I wished that had been the case; I could’ve handled someone who was only after my body a lot better than what this woman was throwing at me.

  She hadn’t backed down; she refused to let me get away with my bullshit. I didn’t impress her. And as much as I wanted it not to bother me, it did. I liked when people looked up to me, worshipped me with adoring eyes, like they couldn’t get enough of me. I liked the media going crazy over me and my antics from week to week. It kept me relevant, kept me feeling good about myself. But that woman, she wasn’t having any of it. I groaned and kneaded the sides of my temples.